Surviving After the Games
by thamockingjayandpeeta
Summary: A quick two-shot in Katniss' POV. Post-mockingjay, pre-epilogue. Rated M for future lemon.
1. Chapter 1

**Of course I'm not Suzanne Collins. I'd much rather be JK Rowling since Harry Potter is WAY more happily ever after than Hunger Games ever was.**

The first time I see him in months he is planting primroses outside in my front yard. For her, he tells me. I didn't ask him to do that, and at first I am angry, until it hits me that this is the first time I have felt something, _anything_, in months.

I run inside, thinking about how crazy I must look, and once again, for the first time, I am thinking about something. I rush upstairs, after smashing the vase and burning the white rose, and stare at myself in the mirror.

I have scars. Lots of them. My hair, though matted, is uneven, and burned in some places. I am thin, and I can't remember the last time I've eaten a good meal. There are dark circles under my eyes, proof of my lack of sleep and the nightmares that still plague me.

I shower, because I know I should, and even though I really want to crawl back into bed, I can't let him plant primroses without me helping.

She was _my_ sister.

And planting primroses seems a better way to remember her than moping around, depressed, hiding in my room and in closets.

We plant together, in silence, and I sneak a glance at him. He is still thin, much too thin for my liking, but I cannot talk. He, at least, has his hair in tact, and I see that his eyelashes are still just as blond and luscious as they always are.

I don't know why I think of that.

Afterwards I think about inviting him over for dinner, only I don't have anything to offer him. Sae does the cooking, and I doubt she'd bring any for him as she isn't expecting him.

We still don't waste food around here, so her making extra seems out of the question, especially since I hardly eat what she brings anyway.

Maybe he wants water, I think, but asking him inside seems to take too much energy. In the end I just turn and walk back inside, closing the door behind me.

I wonder if he will follow me.

Old Peeta would have.

He doesn't, which makes me wonder who this Peeta is.

He doesn't want to kill me. At least not in this moment. He had an ample amount of time to do so while we were planting, and he didn't attempt to. And if he had? I'm not quite sure I'd have been so against it.

I go back upstairs, figure I should shower the dirt off of me, but in the end realize that that will take a lot of effort.

Instead I just climb into bed, the stupid orange cat that came back lying next to me, and when Sae comes with dinner, I eat it without talking.

I've done enough work for today.

XxXxXx

I don't see Peeta again for another couple of weeks. I see him walking from his house, and he does not return to Victor's Village until sundown. I only know this because I haven't moved from the window seat.

If it weren't for the loaf of bread he puts on my front door every morning, I would have figured I'd dreamt us planting the primroses.

For some reason I decide to sleep in front of the window, Buttercup next to me. It has nothing to do with wishing I would catch another glimpse of Peeta, I tell myself. It's just easier to stay here than to go upstairs.

I also ignore the way my breath catches when I see him again the next day, around the same time, leaving his house.

Nor do I wonder where he is off to.

One day, after he's been back little over a month—at least I think it's a month— I am surprised when he knocks on my door, poking his head and coming inside. I can hear him clomping towards the kitchen, presumably to put the loaf of bread down, and then I hear him approach me.

"Katniss." Something about the way he says my name wants me to immediately run to my closet. Whatever he's about to say, I don't want to hear it. "Katniss, you've been sitting at this window for two weeks now."

I stay silent.

"Sae tells me you're not eating." I can hear the disappointment in his voice and for some reason it makes me want to cry

That's nothing new. I always want to cry.

He kneels in front of me and I get a good look at him. He's changed since the first time I saw him, planting outside my front door. He wasn't as thin, but he had dark circles under his eyes, and I wondered, briefly, if he was having as much trouble as I was sleeping.

I missed the way he used to comfort me while we slept.

I guess I could add that to my list of things I missed.

"Katniss? Are you listening to me?"

"Go away, Peeta," I tell him, even though that's not at all what I want to say. How do I tell him I don't deserve his disappointment? "And stop bringing me bread. You don't owe me anything."

I see the hurt flash in those blue eyes, and I'm amazed that after everything I can still hurt him.

Wait.

If I can still hurt him… then that means….

The thought slips away before I let myself do something stupid, like hope.

Just because this Peeta doesn't want to kill me doesn't mean he's _my_ Peeta.

"I don't bring you bread because I owe you," he tells me, and I can tell he's trying to keep his voice level.

"Then why? What do you care?"

He blinks, and I can tell he's trying to find the right words. "They say I care about you," he finally says, and that little spark of hope that I had tried to ignore dwindled and fizzled out.

He still doesn't remember.

"If I care about you, I don't want you starving."

"You cared about an old Katniss," I told him coldly. "She's long gone, and even less deserving than this Katniss." I stood up. "And _you_ are not _my_ Peeta."

Before I brush past him I see that hurt in his eyes again, followed by confusion, and then pain, and suddenly I know what's about to happen.

He seems to know too, because his body gets tense, and his pupils start to dilate.

It's over just as quickly as it started, but the damage is done.

He takes a shaky breath and won't meet my eye. He just leaves, his fists clenched, his muscles tight.

I run, runaway, because I know I did this to him, to us, so I run to my closet, choking back a sob.

"My name is Katniss Everdeen," I whisper into the dark. "I've survived two Hunger Games. I live in Victor's Village, the only remaining part of District 12. I destroyed Peeta Mellark. I am a monster."

XxXxXx

He stops bringing bread for about a week, and I don't see him leave his house during that time either.

I think I have finally pushed him away, and I pretend to feel relieved, because now he doesn't feel obligated to care, and he can move on.

I can't describe the feeling I get when I see Delly heading to his house one day.

When did _she_ get back?

I stayed glued to the window, and my heart drops when I see them leaving together, arm in arm.

I don't know why I'm crying when the tears come.

I shower for the first time in weeks the next day. I am already up when Sae arrives, her granddaughter behind her.

"I'm going hunting," I tell her, and she seems surprised, but she nods and smiles. I grab my bow and head out to the woods.

I lose track of time—that's nothing new—but kill several things, mainly rabbit and wild turkey. When I get home Sae is gone, but there is food for me. Instead of immediately eating I clean the game, dividing it up into four piles: one for Sae, one for Haymitch, one for me, and one for Peeta.

Peeta has the most.

I eat and then make my way into town. It's the first time I've been to town since I've been back, and the destruction is overwhelming. I keep my head down to avoid looking at the mess, and the few people who have come back to rebuild.

I arrive at what's left at the Hob to give Sae her game. She asks me if I want to stay but I decline, heading back to Victor's Village. Next I head to Peeta's leaving him the game. I piled it up in front of his door, taking the coward way out and leaving instead of knocking.

Next I head across to Haymitch's, this time knocking and then walking inside.

"You went hunting," said Haymitch.

"Nothing gets passed you," was my response, my voice hoarse. Things are still kind of tense between us, but he's my mentor, and even though I largely ignore him, he checks in on me at least once a week. I look at him. "I'm surprised you're up."

Haymitch shrugs as I sit the game down, looking around.

"Why's it so clean?"

Haymitch shrugs again. "Peeta had Sae start cleaning my place."

I stare at him. "Are you _sober_?"

"Maybe."

I look at him, really look at him, and notice his eyes are clear. "When's the next train come in?"

Again, he shrugged, and my temper flares.

And then, before I can snap at him, my attention deflates, and I just turn around and leave.

"I'm glad to see you have a little fight in you left," he calls after me. I keep walking. "Add that to your list of things Peeta does for you that makes you not deserve him."

I slam his door so hard the windows rattle.

Knocking forces me out of the closet, because it's persistent.

Whoever it is refuses to go away.

And they're not knocking on my front door, but the closet door.

It's Haymitch.

I scowl, and turn away from him when he crawls down next to me.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm not taking sobriety very well."

I ignore him.

"I need you and Peeta to get your shit together," he continues. "I'm leaving in a few days."

I don't know why my belly fills with dread at the thought of Haymtich leaving.

Half the time I hate him, the other half I'm indifferent to his existence.

"You're leaving me too," I accuse him, still not looking at him. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing the tears.

"I'm going to go get help for my drinking," he explains, and now I do look at him. "I figure I'm going to have to be around for a long time to make sure you and Peeta don't kill each other." I just stare at him. "You and Peeta—"

"There is no me and Peeta," I say, and he just stares at me.

Sighing he stands up. "If you think that, then you're more fucked up than Peeta and I combined."

And with that, he was gone.

XxXxXxXx

The next morning I wake up earlier than usual, having had a restless night.

At least I didn't get nightmares.

I tried not to think too hard about what Haymitch said.

There couldn't be a me and Peeta.

He had Delly.

I am about to go out hunting, the door swinging open, and I nearly bump into Peeta.

We both stand still, looking at each other. I can see the shock on his face at me being in front of him. He visibly pales when he sees the bow in my hand, and I watch as his breath hitches and his eyes go wide. He drops the bread, his fists clenching, and then he gasps out, "Not real," and he's fine.

"I'm sorry," he tells me, bending down to pick up the loaf of bread. "I'll make you another one."

I shake my head. "That's okay," I say softly. He looks like I just rejected him. "You can make it up to me by bringing me cheese buns tomorrow."

I try my damnest to ignore the butterflies in my stomach when he smiles, but it's hard. It's such a strange sensation, one I hadn't felt in a long time.

I need to ignore it, because he doesn't belong to me anymore.

"Deal," he says, a triumphant look in his eyes. "Thanks for all the game. I'll be eating for weeks."

I nod.

"Why'd you give me so much?"

"For you and Delly," I say without thinking.

His brow furrows. "Delly?"

"Yah. I saw you two the other day. Your arms were linked."

He stares at me for a long moment. "So you bought me game after you saw me and Delly together?"

"Yes." I force a smile. "I'm happy for you."

"I'm not with Delly," he snaps out, and his tone frightens me. "She's like a sister to me."

"But I saw you two—"

"I can link my arms with a woman and it not mean anything. You're living proof of that, aren't you? We _held_ hands for two years for the cameras and it didn't mean anything."

Ice cold.

It's the only thing I can think to describe how I feel right now.

"Peeta—" I try to say, but he cuts me off.

"Real or not real?"

Oh no. Are we back to this?

"Real or not real, Katniss?"

"Real," I whisper, and then I turn around, slamming the door in his face, because I can't explain myself to him. I can't tell him that it started off as a game and became real. How do I explain it? How can I?

I drop my bow, running back to my closet, my safe haven, because there are so many emotions running through me.

"My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. I live in District 12. I destroyed the Capitol. I am in love with Peeta Mellark."

Saying it aloud makes me cry.

I stay there long into the night, until a nightmare wakes me up and I wake up screaming at the top of my lungs, the dark consuming me.

I escape out of the closet, running, running, running, heading down the stairs and to the front door. Leaving it wide open I head out, letting my feet guide me, my brain only vaguely aware of where I'm going, but my heart knowing. My heart knew the minute I woke up from my nightmare.

I stop myself from going inside as it hits me that I have no right to do this. I can't ask him to take care of me, not after everything, and since he's been hijacked, he has no reason to.

Instead I will myself to go back home, and face my demons, but my house is just so _dark._

I tell myself I'll just sit at his door for a little while.

"Katniss, what the _hell_," is what I hear to wake me up, but before I could blink open my eyes a pair of strong arms engulf me. I scream at first, cursing myself for letting my guard down, and knowing I'm near death. And then his hold tightens around me and then I'm buried in his chest, and I smell that sweet, familiar scent of cinnamon and nutmeg and flour that I know at once is Peeta. "It's okay," he murmurs, stroking my hair, and then I burst into tears.

He holds me, just holds me, like he used to, until I calm down. Eventually I feel him taking me upstairs. He puts me down on something soft—his bed—and lets me go, and I tense, and grab for him, the tears coming again.

"No. Don't leave," I say frantically.

"I'm just going to go turn on the shower," says Peeta, and kneels at my side. I can barely see him because my eyes are so swollen and puffy. I shake my head, telling him he can't leave, so he picks me up and walks me to the bathroom, sitting me on the counter. He holds my hand as he reaches over, turning on the shower. "Take a shower Katniss," he tells me. "You're freezing. Take a shower. I'll be right outside the door, okay?"

Again, I shake my head.

"I can't go in there with you, Katniss."

He _could_, and that thought scares me, because I don't know where it comes from, so I finally allow him to leave me so I could shower.

When I'm finished I find a pair of his sweats and a tank top laid out for me.

I dress and go downstairs, softly calling Peeta's name.

When he doesn't answer I call it again, louder.

Still no answer.

I panic, because the last time he didn't answer me I found out the Capitol took him.

I scream his name, rushing to the kitchen, where I stop dead in my tracks.

Peeta's tied up in a chair, his eyes unclear, wide, red, his mouth open as he gasped for air. The kitchen is a mess: there's flour everywhere, pots and pans on the floor, and broken glass everywhere.

I want to help him.

That's new. I haven't wanted to help somebody in a long time.

I take a tentative step forward, my eyes locked with Peeta's, when he says, "Run, before I kill you."

I don't even think twice.

I just do as I told.

XxXxXx

I'm furious with myself when I finally come around two days later. After leaving Peeta's I ran to my closet, fearing for my life, afraid and convinced that Peeta would find me and kill me.

Now I know why Haymitch sleeps with a knife.

When I finally crawled out of the closet I ran downstairs and locked all my windows and doors, ensuring that nobody, not even the Capitol would get in.

Greasy Sae tried to get me to open up, but I ignored her. When Peeta comes knocking, he's filled with apologies, but in my fear I tell him to leave me alone and never return, because he's dangerous, and I'm scared of him.

"You're scared of me?" he asks gently, and I give him a firm yes.

Even now I'm still a liar.

I'm not afraid of him. I'm afraid of how he makes me feel. I'm afraid of letting my guard down and getting hurt again.

When I try to talk to him a few days after he ignores me. I actually hear the door lock while I'm knocking, and it hurts, more than I thought possible. I stayed outside until my voice was hoarse.

He didn't leave his house for two days, and then I see Delly walking towards his house about a week later.

He lets her in, and I can't ignore the jealousy or the anger.

She always could help him, even when I couldn't.

I go back into my depression for about another month, until one day I wake up with the desire to go hunting. I catch squirrel, head home, clean it, and leave some for Peeta again.

The next morning there's bread outside my door.

I feel something loosen in my chest, and feel something else blossoming.

It's hope.

XxXxXx

I'm watching TV one day, just because I was about to go stir crazy, when my front door opens.

A few seconds later Peeta sits down next to me, the cushions sinking in.

We don't talk for a long time. He just sits next to me, and it's the closest we've been since the morning I came over and he held me.

Sae seems surprised when she comes over for dinner, but pleased, and she makes enough for him. She does not stay, though, and I wish she had, because now Peeta and I are sitting at the table, across from each other, stealing glances at each other, but not saying anything.

Afterwards we did the dishes together, still silent, but still working well as a team.

The TV was still on when he was leaving, and I saw Paylor on the screen, talking about building memorials in honor of the fallen victims.

An idea crept its way into my brain, taking place in only a few seconds. By the time he reached the door I called out to him.

"Do you remember our plant book?"

He turned to me, slowly, and then nodded. "Real," he says.

I hesitate, because that response reminds me of all that he's been through, and maybe this isn't such a good idea.

But I'm selfish, so I keep going.

"We should make another one, for the Games, and include everybody: Finnick, Johanna, Chaff, Seeder, Mags." I gulp. "Rue…." I braced myself, because I don't remember the last time I said her name aloud. Probably when I saw her going up in flames. "Prim." I clear my throat, hurriedly moving on. "I'll write, you draw."

He looks at me for a long moment, and then slowly nods. "Okay, Katniss."

He's about to leave again when I blurt out, "I didn't mean it." He stiffens, his hand on the doorknob, but doesn't turn around. "I'm not afraid of you Peeta."

"Then why'd you say it?" His back was still to me.

"Because I'm afraid of me, and what I do to you."

I can tell that's not the answer he expects when he turns to look at me, his eyebrows raised. I can see him debating something in his head, and in the end, he decides to leave it alone.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Katniss."

I nod, understanding that he was forgiving me _again_.


	2. Chapter 2

We weren't working on the book long before the questions started to come.

The flashbacks came too, and for some reason they were much easier to handle than the questions.

I stopped running from the flashbacks, even when he told me to, and it caused a few arguments, because I wouldn't leave when he asked me to.

"We help each other," I remind him every single time we argue about it, and that seems to take the wind out of him.

Sometimes, depending on how bad the flashback is, he leaves for days at a time, and the book is forgotten.

And some days it's me.

It starts off with simple enough questions, ones that I can answer without my blood freezing.

He asks me about Gale once, out of the blue, and it catches me off guard.

"He's in 2, last I heard," I tell him truthfully.

"You don't talk to him anymore?" I shake my head. Peeta pauses for a moment and then blurts out, "Do you miss him?"

I search my mind before I answer, really thinking about, like I did that one time when I asked Sae where he was. Then I shake my head. "Not like I missed you," I say, and something passes in his eyes, something I can't describe, but it's gone before I can grasp it. He smiles at me and we continue with the book.

Then one night, when we've been working on the book for a few months, he stops drawing the picture of Rue and looks at me.

I can tell by the way he crinkles his nose he's about to ask me a question.

"You never loved me. Real or not real?"

I freeze, literally freeze, my pencil midair, by mouth open, my face staring at the pages that go from blurry to blank.

I'm scared to look at him, but when he calls my name, softly, I look up and face him.

His eyes still astonish me, even after all this time. They're just as ocean blue now as they were all those years ago, when he threw me that bread. They were clearer now than they had been in the past year, though now they were clouded with confusion. His hair is long, and he's in need of a haircut, but his long locks are just as blond as ever. His long eyelashes curl up, and I wonder if they tickle the top of his lids.

"Real," I finally breathe out, and then I'm running away, because it's what I do best.

I hide for a week straight, until Haymitch comes barging in one day, swinging my closet door open without so much as a warning.

"Stop moping, sweetheart," he says roughly.

I stare up at him, noting he looks better, healthier, than I've ever seen him. His hair is longer, and grayer, and he's got a five o'clock shadow.

"When'd you get back?" I ask.

"A few hours ago." I think it's weird that he would come here first, and he proves that point in his next statement. "I talked to Peeta."

I turn away from him.

"When's the last time you checked on him?"

I don't respond, though my heart drops into my stomach and would make it impossible to speak, even if I wanted to.

"That's what I thought," sighed Haymitch. "Look, I thought now that the Games were over I'd be done with this mentoring shit, but I forgot I'm dealing with the world's most stubborn woman." He sits down next to me. "You're not the only one hurting, sweetheart. You lost Prim, and Peeta lost everyone. You're all he has. Why you can't see that I'll never know. Us Seam folk are a little hard on the uptake. Your father was one of the few Seam people who recognized love and grasped it."

I choked out a sob at the mention of my father.

"He loved your mother, and even though it was frowned on because she was from the Town, he loved her. Now if you were anybody else, I'd ask you if you could seriously lie to my face about how you feel about Peeta. But you can't tell me the truth because you lie to yourself every day." He stands up, and I hate the pity in his eyes as he looks at me. "You're not a child anymore, Katniss. That lost, confused girl who played with Peeta and Gale's emotions is long gone. Grow up, sweetheart."

I close my closet door when he leaves, and cry into the darkness, trying to get my emotions together, and ignore the things Haymitch says. I cover my ears, rocking back and forth, trying to ignore all the words he said.

I hate that he and Peeta are the only ones who can get under my skin.

I crawl out of the closet and go downstairs, looking out my window. I see that Peeta's lights are on.

They stay on for three nights straight, and I know he is fighting flashbacks.

I should go to him, but I don't, and as punishment I relive the moment those bombs dropped and made Prim the _real_ girl on fire.

I wake up screaming until my voice is hoarse, and finally I cry myself into exhaustion.

When I finally find the courage to go to him, it is in the dark of night. His lights have been off for a week now, so I know the flashbacks have ended. The problem is the lights are never _on_, either, and I know he's in there, because I saw Delly leave a week ago, and he hasn't left since.

I go to him because my fear that he is dead outweighs my fear of his questions.

It's late, but I can't sleep, because it's been bothering me, all this time, about what it is he's doing in the dark.

I climb up his steps and walk inside, noting the house felt still, and smelled empty. Now that I was here my breathing became harder to control. Still I couldn't live with myself if something had happened to him, so I made my way further in.

"Peeta?" I called out, and my voice was once again hoarse. I cleared it, trying again. "Peeta?" I said, louder this time.

When I didn't get an answer panic started to consume me.

I flew up the stairs, screaming Peeta's name, and barged into his bedroom.

Peeta was in bed, breathing hard, his face flushed, his eyes confused.

"Katniss? What is it?" Peeta got out of bed and came up to me, and I stared at him, taking in his appearance.

His eyes had deep circles under them, and he was thinner. I felt the guilt start to consume me.

"Are you okay?" Peeta's question snaps me back to the reality.

"You didn't call when I answered," I said in a hushed whisper.

He blinked at me. "I was sleep," was all he said. I don't respond. "Am I supposed to ask how high every time you say jump?"

I shake my head, looking down.

"Katniss, I was joking. Talk to me. What's wrong?"

He turns on the light but I keep my head down, because I can't have him look at me and see the tears in my eyes, because even after everything Peeta is still so kind and sweet and _concerned_, and it's not _fair_.

"I was worried about you," I finally mumble.

Peeta pauses for several moments. "Why?" And the way he says it makes my head snap up.

How do I answer that? Why do I care?

_Because I love you_, I want to say, but somehow the words won't form from my lips.

I really am a coward.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," I say instead, and now his brow furrows. He's confused, and it feels funny, seeing him confused, because normally I'm confused, but if there's anything I'm no longer confused about, it's how I feel about him. "I shouldn't have come," I continue, and I turn to leave.

"Katniss, wait." I stop, afraid to look back at him, but he doesn't speak until I face him. "I… I don't know why you came, but since you're here, maybe you want some tea or something? Or hot chocolate?"

I sigh, because nothing would make me happier, but honestly I just wish he'd hate me already. Not Capitol hate me, but hate me by choice, because I don't deserve to have him volunteer to make tea in the middle of the night, when he was asleep, after the way I treat him.

"Okay," I tell him, because, once again, I'm selfish.

We drink hot chocolate, and it doesn't take long for my eyes to grow heavy.

"How've you been sleeping?" asks Peeta gently, and I figure I probably look a mess.

"Probably about as well as you," I tell him, and he grimaces.

"Not well then." I shake my head.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" I ask before I figure out if it's my place or not.

For the first time he looks away from me, and I wonder if I've gone too far. "I…" he takes a deep breath. "I've been having nightmares, so I've stopped sleeping. Tonight's the first night I've tried to, because honestly I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. That's why I didn't hear you when you called me. I was knocked out."

"I'm sorry," I safe softly, feeling guilty again. Why am I always doing things to Peeta that warrant apologies? "I should let you get some sleep."

I start to rise and Peeta stands too. "You could stay." If I hadn't seem him say the words I wouldn't have believed he said it. Since he did say them, I just stare at him and watch as his face flushes. "I mean," he amends, "that we could catch a flick on TV or something. You don't have to leave right now. I'm already up." He shrugs casually, but I know he's not being honest. He needs to sleep. He looks like he's dead on his feet.

"Okay."

We watch TV on the couch, sitting next to each other, fresh hot chocolate in our cups. It doesn't take long for my head to rest on his shoulder, after much internal debate. It's just I'm so _tired_, and if he's about to kill me, then so be it.

But he doesn't even flinch. If anything he relaxes.

"Is this okay?" I ask him.

"Yes," he says without hesitation.

"Then you'll allow it?"

I can hear the smile on his face when he says, "Okay."

Next thing I know, it's daylight, and Peeta and I are lying together, on his couch. He's stretched out, one arm wrapped behind his head, the other wrapped securely around me. I was practically lying on top of him, one leg wrapped around both of his, my other half tucked between his body and the cushion of the couch.

I could tell by his breathing that Peeta was awake.

I feel my face warm as I slowly look up and meet his eyes.

They're so kind. So sweet. I could get lost in them.

"Hi," he says with a soft smile.

"Hi," I respond back.

"No nightmares?"

I blink at my surprise, and then shake my head. "No nightmares," I repeat. "You?" He shakes his head. "Did you sleep?"

"I did. For a while. But I've been up for about an hour now."

"Doing what?"

"Just watching you. You're beautiful when you sleep."

I blush scarlet and sit up, not meeting his eyes.

"Do you want breakfast?" Before I can answer my stomach rumbles. Peeta laughs. "I'll take that as a yes. How about cinnamon rolls?"

I wasn't about to tell him that he had me at cinnamon.

I'd take anything that smelled like him.

After a mostly silent breakfast, with us mainly stealing shy glances at each other, I start to leave.

"I'll come by and bring you game later," I say at the door.

"Don't bother," was his response.

I turn and face him. "But you made me breakfast."

For a brief second hurt flashes across his face. "You think… you _owe_ me game?"

"Don't I?"

He steps up to me. "You don't owe me anything, Katniss. Okay? I mean that."

"But—"

"No buts. If you want to bring me game out of the kindness of your heart, then okay. But you don't owe me anything. Ever." I gulp at his tone. "Do you understand?"

"I'm not a charity case," I snap out, and he blinks at me.

"A _charity_ case?" He sounds offended, and his voice rises. "Is that what you think I think of you?"

"I don't know how you think of me," I tell him, my own voice rising.

"Maybe that's because you runaway every time I try to tell you."

That shut me up, and it almost made me runaway, only I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being right.

We stand there, staring at each other for about two full minutes, shooting daggers at each other, until I see him deflate.

"I'm sorry. That was a low blow," he finally says.

I sigh. "I know I'm difficult."

"That's an understatement," he says with a smile, and it hits me, in that moment, how genuinely beautiful Peeta is. "It's late, and I've missed a couple of weeks worth of rebuilding, so I have to go. Why don't you stop by tonight and I'll make dinner, and then we can work on the book?"

Why did he always give me another chance?

I nod. I want to say 'okay,' but instead, I try opening up a little. "I'd like that." I find, though, that it's too much for me, so like he says I do, I runaway.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

I learn that he did have flashbacks those nights his lights were on, but he also painted. A lot. He won't let me see the paintings though, and I don't push it, because he's entitled to his privacy.

Since that night on the couch I've been over every day, and we work on the book, crying at the sadness, and laughing at the good memories. We also go to bed together, and it was so natural, really, the way he always holds out his hand for me and leads me upstairs.

At first I didn't have nightmares, but I guess eventually I got used to sleeping in his arms, because they came back. But his arms, his body, his reassurance is there.

I can feel things changing between us, though I don't get my hopes up too high. We touch each other more. He kisses me. At first it was just after a nightmare woke me up, on top of my head. Then it was before we fell asleep, normally on the forehead. Now it's on the cheek, when he wakes up early to head to town. The bakery is reconstructed enough for him to start baking again, so he leaves early. Never on the lips, though I don't think I'd mind if he did. I don't get my hopes up, though, because what we have now is true and genuine friendship, and if that's all he wants, that's all I deserve.

I don't get to be upset that it took me losing him to want him and realize his value.

With each other's help, we heal. He still has flashbacks, but they don't scare me. Dr. Aurelius—yes, we've been talking again, for months now—says that Peeta takes medicine that helps him control the flashbacks. He tends to feel really guilty afterwards, though, and he pushes me away.

But I'm stubborn, so I push back.

I still have my fits of depression, but I tell Peeta about my lists, and he lists things for me on days that I can't get out of bed. Normally it helps.

If no other relationship is repaired, at least my mom and I are better now. Peeta did that for me, too, suggesting I call her until it becomes habitual. I talk to her at least a couple times a day now. I feel like I owe her a million apologies, because I'm no different than how she was when my father died.

I get it.

Prim's death made me understand like nothing else could.

Us Everdeen women have an illness, and even though I try a lot harder than my mom ever did, I know where that pain comes from. Only the love of a partner could shake her out of it. I was her daughter, but I was not her husband, so I could not heal her. Peeta was not Prim, and there were days he couldn't heal me.

But normally he does.

We are fine for several months, the book nearly finished, lying in bed, when I finally lost—or won, depending on how this went—a debate with myself.

"Peeta," I say into the night.

"Hm?" I can tell he's near sleep, but if I don't get this off my chest, I'll surely burst.

"Do you remember that night, when you asked me if I ever loved you, and I ran away?"

I felt him stiffen and then turn to look at me. "Yes."

"Why'd you ask me that?"

He sighs and looks away. "Because at the time Dr. Aurelius said you were my best bet for helping me remember. And you said you didn't mind playing 'Real or Not Real' when I first asked you."

"I get that," I tell him, "but why that question specifically?"

"I…." He runs his fingers through his hair, which I know he does when he's nervous. "It was the book. Writing about the Games. I… remembered the Victory Tour." My breath catches in my throat. "I knew they were real because they weren't shiny. I'd started to work through shiny verses real by then. Anyway, I held you those nights, and you let me." He pauses to turn to look at me. "And then, right before I came over, I remembered that day, atop of the Training Center before the Quarter Quell. I knew you didn't love me, but it felt like you did. But I was confused. So I thought I'd ask."

I was quiet for a moment. "Do you remember anything else?"

"The cave. Lots of kisses, but one I remember in particular. It felt different. I also remember the beach, in the Quarter Quell. The Capitol tried to take that one. They compared it with you and the jabberjays, and how you heard Gale." I stiffened. "And then I remember the train ride back home," he says, a little more quietly, "about it all being for the cameras, so I was confused, because that one wasn't shiny."

He didn't quite mask the hurt from his voice when he said that, and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes.

"These past months I've… started to remember how I feel about you. Even after a flashback I can decipher between what's real and not. Some are a little hazy, but I can decipher that sheen of shiny now."

Now I turn to him. "Y-You remember?"

He smiles. "Real."

I feel something burst inside of me, something I never thought I'd feel again.

Happiness.

So why does he look so sad?

"I'm okay with this though," he tells me, and whatever _this_ he is talking about, he's not being honest. "I know you just want to be friends, and that's okay."

"It is?" I breathe.

"It's better than having none of you. Or hating you. I'm selfish Katniss." I want to cry at those words, because Peeta is _not_ selfish. He's anything but. "I love you. More than anything, or anyone. I want and need you in my life. I'll take scraps or whatever it is you want to give me."

"So… there's hope," I say, and I love that he does this for me, to me. He always gives me the ability to hope.

He pauses for a moment. "As long as you're alive, Katniss, there'll always be hope."

Now I really want to cry, because that's something I should be saying to him. How can I make him know how I feel?

_I want to give you all of me_, I think, and the thought makes me blush, but the truth is, for the past few weeks, lying next to him, I _have_ wanted to offer more of myself.

I want to tell him this, but words were always _his_ thing. I always made a mess of things when I open my mouth. I was better at showing.

So I show him.

I press my lips to his, firmly, and it takes him a few moments—though they felt like eternity in my mind—to respond, but when he does, an electric shock forces its way to the very center of my being and works its magic throughout the rest of my body until my hair stands on end. I feel it, that thing again, that same hunger I felt in that cave on that beach. I thought it was gone forever, but here it was, after all this time.

Always.

He pulls away first, because once his lips touched mine, I vowed to myself I'd never let them go. His breathing is heavy as he rests his head against my forehead.

"This is the realest dream I've ever had," he says to me, and I smile.

"It's not a dream, Peeta," I whisper to him, and he jerks back from me. He turns over and reaches for the light and we're both blinking to adjust to the brightness. "It's real, Peeta,"

"But you just kissed me."

"I know," I say simply. I can see him trying to piece it all together in his mind.

"But… why?"

I want to say it, those four letters, but the last person I loved got blown up. And for the first time I wish I were romantic, so I could mention that I still had the pearl he'd given me, and could explain exactly _why_, but I'm not, and I can't, so instead I just say, "Why not?" and kiss him.

Only he doesn't kiss me back this time. Instead he pulls away. "I get butterflies when you come around," he tells me. "I fight so hard against my flashbacks because I know I love you, and I wouldn't love a mutt, and if there's anybody in the world who's _not_ a mutt for the Capitol, it's you. But you don't love me."

"Not real," I say firmly, and for the first time ever I wonder what kind of grades Peeta got in school, because for someone so bright, he sure can be fucking stupid sometimes, and all I want to do is _tell_ him that, but apparently I'm fucking stupid too because the words won't form. So instead I just say, "Not real," again, and this time when I kiss him, he kisses me back.

And he can't fulfill the hunger.

He's so far away, so I bring myself closer, and it's still not filled. My hands are too free, so I snake them around his neck, playing with his golden locks, but that still doesn't fill me either. So I open my mouth for him, part my lips, and let his tongue slide inside my mouth, but still that does not fill me.

Maybe I need to feel his skin.

So I slither my arms under his shirt and we both moan at the contact, and as soon as the sound escapes our throats I realize how dense I've been these past few months to think I'm the only who felt the sexual tension.

Peeta is still a hormonal, nineteen-year-old teenager.

When we finally break away from each other, our lips are red and swollen, and Peeta's eyes are midnight blue, and filled with what _must_ be lust. I made my decision in that moment, because nothing else is satisfying me, so I must need something else.

While we catch our breath, I take off his shirt, and I think he finally gets it.

"Katniss," he whispers, and I can hear the longing beneath the question.

"Real," I whisper back, and I kiss him again.

I immediately feel him against my thigh—through his boxers and night pants—when he climbs on top of me. My breath hitches and he freezers. I can tell he thinks he's gone too far, but I reassure him by bringing my hands to his face and reaching up to kiss him.

This kiss is shy and timid, as if we both know what's about to happen. A few years ago I'd have never thought this would happen, with anybody, ever, but I'm so glad it's happening now, with Peeta.

He sits up and slips off my shirt, exposing me. For the first time I remember that the light is on. He follows my glance and then turns back to me.

"Shut it off," I say, and he just shakes his head.

"Why?"

"Because I'm ugly," I tell him, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

He scowls at that, and it's so sincere that I think he's having a flashback. "Don't say that," he tells me, and I know he means it, because he's never talked to me like that.

I think I'm turned on.

"You're beautiful, Katniss," and it's something about the way that he says it that makes me believe him.

"Okay," I respond quietly.

"Then you'll allow it?" All it takes is one nod for him to start kissing me again, and when his hands slowly, tenderly, finds its way to my bare breasts, my body arches into him on its own accord.

Finally, for the first time ever, I feel like the Girl on Fire, and I have no problem embracing it.

What _are_ these feelings?

_Love_, I answer myself.

I whimper in protests when his lips leave mine, but then an elated moan escapes out of my mouth when his lips find my breast.

"Oh my God," I say into the night, because God is the only name I can call on right now.

Eventually, though, I remember Peeta's name, especially when his free hand kneads one breast while sucking on the other.

My hands act on their own and scratch his back, but soon it's not enough, and then my hands are reaching around towards his front, at the top of his pants, and I'm undoing his drawstrings….

He stops what he's doing at the same time I stop lowering his pants, and we look at each other, our eyes locking.

"Are you sure?" he asks me.

"Yes," I say, because I know he needs to hear me say it. He stares at me a moment longer, and then his mouth is on mine again, and my head starts swimming. I'm frozen for a moment, just thinking about how good this feels, how good he feels, and I'm melting, my body is literally melting.

When I arch my back into him I know I'm nearly ready.

"Have you ever done this before?" I stutter out.

He stops and then shakes his head. "No. Why? Have you and Gale….?"

I screw up my face. "God no. Never. Not even close. I'm pure, remember?"

"Yah, but there were all those nights in 13…." His voice trails off and I shake my head. "There's never been anyone else, Peeta. Just you. Always you."

This answer seems to satisfy him, because suddenly he's kissing me, and while still kissing me, he touches me, down _there_, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt I'm ready.

And I'm on fire.

"Katniss," he hisses, and I know it's because he feels how wet I am, but I'm too frustrated that he's not inside me to even care.

He stops kissing me and reaches up to slide my underwear off. I don't hesitate to lift my hips so that they slide off easier. I lay back down, my eyes closed, ready for this to happen, because it was always going to come to this anyway.

It takes a few seconds to realize I'm completely naked, and that he's stopped moving, touching, kissing, everything. I slowly look up at him and flush as I realize he's taking in every single detail, his eyes traveling all over as if trying to remember it all.

When his eyes lock with mine I'm blushing.

"Beautiful," he says, and that hunger returns ten fold.

I start to wonder if he's beautiful too, so I reach for his pants, sliding them down. He gasps and it doesn't take me long to realize it's due to his erection. I slid his pants off without giving anything thought to it.

"I'm sorry," I say, but he just shakes his head, and I blush again.

I don't want to, but then I do want, to, and it's an eternal battle, for about five seconds, until I finally succumb to the curiosity and look down, because long gone is the girl who was too shy to wash Peeta.

I look my fill, and then feel him watching me, so I feel a blush on my cheeks again. He slips out of the rest of his pants and lies back on top of me, his weight comfortable.

He's kissing me again, all over my face, and then on my neck, and then he hits this spot, right behind my ear, a spot I didn't even know _existed_, and it had my toes curling and a low groan force its way out of my throat.

I was too pleased at the sensation to care about how I sounded.

He seems to know he is doing something right, because he keeps his lips there, his breath warm, and suddenly my hand was winding its way towards him. I grip him and he jerks into my hand.

He let out a shaky breath and I see one his hands tighten around the sheets. He was strong, and solid in my hands, but velvety, and holding it made me realize that I needed more, so much more.

My free hand found its way to my center, and I started stroking, lightly, because Peeta seemed to be frozen. A few moments into it I moaned, and Peeta snapped out of it as he realized something other than himself was pleasing me.

"Let me," he says huskily, and I stop. He places his finger close to the spot mine was, but he's not quite there, so I shift a little, hoping to help him find it. "Is this not it? It's okay, just tell me where to go."

"Right," I say immediately, and he does. I shudder. "Okay. A little deeper." He does. I whimper. So close. "A little harder," I breathe, and I can't believe I'm saying these things, but I am.

He finds that spot and I gasp, and then a bubble literally bursts.

He stares at his hand for several moments, as if he can't believe what just happened, and then he looks at me with such love and tenderness that I think I'm going to cry.

Or it could be that I want him so bad and this ache is making me cry.

"Now, Peeta," is the only phrase I can think of, and he doesn't need much convincing. He's just on top of me again, his weight a welcomed comfort. Before he enters me he says, "I'm sorry if I hurt you."

"I'd deserve it for every time I've hurt you." I say it without thinking and realize immediately it was stupid. "Sorry," I whisper, lowering my eyes.

He tilts my chin up. "Stop blaming yourself for everything."

And then he kisses me and slides smoothly into me, and it's so easy, because my legs are already spread for him.

I think he's punishing me for what I said because it _does_ hurt. Only he doesn't keep moving immediately.

"Tell me when I can move again," he says against my neck, and I can hear the strain in his voice.

I take several deep breaths, letting myself adjust to him, surprised at how long it takes, though not all that surprised, because there's a lot to adjust to.

After what feels like eternity I feel this undeniable need to move my hips.

"I'm ready," I tell him, and my arms fall to his back, pulling him to me, and my ankles lock around his waist.

He takes his time, which is sweet, and lovely, but after about a minute I'm meeting his thrusts with thrusts of my own.

I make noises I didn't know were humanly possible as he starts to rock faster, faster, faster, and deeper.

We rock together, back and forth, and I can't believe how hard he is, for me, or how wet I am, for him.

"I'm gonna… _Fuck_," Peeta gasps, and I feel him slowing down, but I grip him tighter.

"It's okay," I whisper, my back arching, because we have the rest of our lives for the night to last longer. He looks at me, and I tilt my head up to kiss him. "Cum Peeta. Cum for me."

He moans my name and growls, low in his throat, and it's the sexiest sound I've ever heard, and I know that's the sound I'll be waiting for the next time we do this so that I can get off. I feel him, feeling off of him fill me, and suddenly I'm satisfied.

He pumps into me for several more moments, and then his hips and body slowly stills.

I think he's about to climb off of me but instead I feel his finger again, and without me even having to tell him, he's found that spot again.

I arch my back, because this is so unexpected, but this is Peeta, so _of course_ he wants me to finish.

When he enters another finger and then his thumb touches this ball of nerves, I cum, loudly, the pleasure far too great to be embarrassed.

"Next time I'm inside you," Peeta tells me, "I'm gonna hit that spot, and not with my hands."

The words make me blush, but also make me very excited for the next time.

"I'll explore your body next time," I tell him, because I realize I didn't do that tonight.

"I'll last longer, too," he says, and he finally climbs off of me.

I miss him the moment he's gone.

I immediately snuggle into him, and he wraps his strong arms around me.

I lay my head right over his heart, where I can feel it beating from fast to its normal pace, and I'm just thinking about how this is the best sound in the world, the sound of his heart, and I wish I could find the courage to tell him that I love him, when he says,

"You love me, real or not real?"

"Real," I tell him, and I smile, because I know that even though he's giving me a way out, I know one day I will be able to say it to him.

And Peeta, like he always has, and probably always will, will wait for me to do so.

Because as long as he's alive, there's hope.

Always.

And one day I'll be able to articulate why he and Gale were wrong, all those months ago, about me choosing who I can't survive without, and how Gale was also right. Because I never needed Gale's fire. I never needed his anger and bitterness, and desire for revenge. No, I needed my dandelion in the spring, I needed his hope. Not to survive. I've already survived.

But to live.

_Fin_


End file.
